


when I wake up I’m afraid (somebody else might take my place)

by i_wont_fall_asleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, minor display of violence, pretty dark, severe anxiety, stiles and allison and scott are all struggling, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_wont_fall_asleep/pseuds/i_wont_fall_asleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But the worst wasn’t the isolation or the nightmares-it was the delusions."</p>
            </blockquote>





	when I wake up I’m afraid (somebody else might take my place)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings listed above in tags**
> 
> Listen to: http://8tracks.com/pacificwolf/lose-your-mind as it's what really inspired me.
> 
> lose your mind.

He laid on his unmade bed, the navy blue sheets and bed cover lumpy masses underneath his body. The room was freezing, although, logically, he had kept the heat on all day and to any normal person it must have felt unbearable but his pale flesh still was a constant march of gooseflesh and shivers. Moving his eyes around the room he took in the unkempt floors, not able to remember the last time he cleaned, the now bare walls that were stripped of their posters and pictures in a fit of uncontrollable rage; finally stopping on the window with the curtains and blinds drawn wide open, the locks secure in place.

The moon was full and bright in the dark, violet sky, the rain pattering melodically against the glass. He didn’t even need to check the bright glow of his phone to see the time; it was well past midnight, the silent pause right before dawn. Out of all of his sleepless nights (and there were so many; he couldn’t remember the last time he slept, an actual sleep, not the panic-inducing bouts of unconsciousness he had become familiar with) the time that he dreaded and loved the most was then.

On the seclusion of his bed, he wasn’t questioned about his mist-like presence by anyone- though, truthfully, there weren’t that many people left to question him anymore; Derek was gone, finally away from the town that had stolen so much from him, Scott was rarely around anymore and when he was, there was this deep, sinister fury that pulsed so close underneath the skin, like a beast stalking back and forth waiting to be let loose on its prey. Allison was skittish and was distancing herself from everyone, constantly looking over her shoulder as if some unwelcome ghost was haunting her, while his Dad and Lydia and Isaac were all lost, unsure of what to do or even what was happening.

But it also seemed to take much longer for the sun to wake during those hours, leaving him with too much time to think and drift-something that was dangerous for him.

During the day, surrounding by people, it was easier for him to block out the darkness, but alone, in the shadows of his room, he could so quickly slip into those flashes of horrific images, only to come out and into a panic attack that were worse than any he had ever experienced. They left him weak and boneless and exhausted without the respite of sleep.

But the worst wasn’t the isolation or the nightmares-it was the delusions.

It was not knowing if he was actually walking down the hallways of his school, suddenly in front of a door and about to open it, hand wrapped around the icy metal handle only to startle into consciousness on his couch, his Dad shooting him a worried look.

            (He tried to ignore that look that filled him with guilt and self-loathing at what he was putting his father through.)

 It was getting up in the morning, going into his bathroom and pulling a sharp razor in a single, clean stroke up his wrist, watching in detached-fascination as his ruby-red blood poured from the cut, and just as he noticed himself letting go, abruptly, he would be brought back, standing cold and shivering out in the middle of the lacrosse field, realizing it wasn’t real.

            (He tried to ignore the soft sigh of disappointment he felt when he recognized it was a dream.)

It was laying in his bathtub while his Dad was on patrol, hoping the warm water would be able to soothe him to sleep, dipping his head under the water until his head brushed the bottom when all of a sudden he was being held down, dirty, mud-covered hands clawing into his flesh, making him scream and breath in the water, the searing in his chest like that of losing his mother a hundred times, only to open his eyes and find himself outside the burnt shell of the Hale house, soaking and voice hoarse from screaming.

            (He tried to ignore why it was that house that drew him and the aching loneliness that filled him as he walked back away from it.)

It was sitting in AP Literature and Composition, taking notes on the teacher discussing the main character in _The Bell Jar_ , the novel they were currently studying-a novel he had already read, twice, in eighth grade-and looking up and noticing the class was empty, the students replaced with filmy, black ash, his mother’s soft voice humming his favorite lullaby in the distance, the fear seizing him, signaling that something horrible and bloody and vicious was going to happen and he was utterly powerless to stop it, then jerking in his desk as his teacher called his name repeatedly and his classmates gawked at him, looking back down with a blush at his notes, seeing not about Esther Greenwoods’ rapid mental regression but a single phrase repeated in a handwriting he did not recognize, over and over again.

**_W A K E  U P._ **

(He tried to ignore the whispers that now trailed him in the hallways, not just as that spastic kid but as the freak who was slowly going insane.)

~~

His alarm blares to life, indicating he had passed through yet another unsatisfying evening, the sun fully awoken-if hidden behind a layer of soft grey clouds. He sat up and swung his legs over and settling them on the plush carpet, taking in a deep breath to ready himself, feeling his joints ache, his muscles throb, his eyes burn.

He’ll get up and strip off his clothes, and throw on another pair of jeans; a black long-sleeve shirt-to hide the mysterious scratches and picks he’s been acquiring over the past few months from ownerless claws, two sweatshirts on top of that to try and staunch his always-present chill, slipping his feet into a pair of worn and muddy converse. He will leave the house, rushing past his troubled father, who calls out to him, reminding him that he won’t be home that night.

He will not eat breakfast; the last time he tried, flashes of maggot-covered corpses clouded his eyes and had him running for the toilet instead.

 He will get into his blue Jeep, sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting until his hands stop shaking before he starts the car and makes a silent journey to school.

He’ll attend his first three classes but then will have to skip fourth, AP Physics, to rush into the empty locker room, falling to a sobbing heap, clutching at his chest as a panic attack grips him and threatens to drag him down.

He’ll eat alone, a single apple and a bottle of water-all he can stomach-as he reads whether dying from sleep deprivation is possible or not (the findings aren’t promising). He’ll hear the bell ring and he’ll walk through the hallway just in time to see Isaac stroll up to Allison-who frankly looks like death, her hair is dark and dull, her skin translucent, her eyes wild and shaded with purple bags, as if suffering from her own sleeplessness-and put his arm around her, her reaction that of a full body shudder and stepping quickly away from him.

He’ll see his best friend move stupidly, too quickly for a human boy, and throw Isaac into the tan lockers, denting them deep, a snarl emitting from somewhere feral within Scott, his eyes flashing an ugly, dangerous shade of Alpha-red. The younger boy will just stare with disbelief and fear. Scott will finally take notice of the crowd that has gathered and he will sneer and growl again at them before stalking off toward the student parking lot.

The rest of the day will pass in a frightening blur, jumping around until he is on his bed again, unsure of how he went from fifth period AP United States History to there.

He’ll stare out the window and gaze at the moon again and feel himself slipping deeper into his insanity, feel the emptiness around his heart grow and the darkness pound and begin to suffocate him. He’ll feel the total loss of control and the panic to start rising inside him, again.

He’ll pull the pillow over his face and scream until the sun awakes once more and his voice is unable to call for help.

_“I can feel the draw.  
I can feel it pulling me back, it’s pulling me back.”_

**Author's Note:**

> title from: Afraid-The Neighbourhood
> 
> end quote from: The Draw-Bastille


End file.
